English Stories 23 Storm Harvest # Mike Tucker and Robert Perry
STORM HARVEST
ROBERT PERRY AND MIKE TUCKER
Published by BBC Worldwide Ltd,
Woodlands, 80 Wood Lane
London W12 0TT
First published 1999
Copyright © Robert Perry and Mike Tucker 1999
The moral right of the authors has been asserted
Original series broadcast on the BBC
Format © BBC 1963
Doctor Who and TARDIS are trademarks of the BBC
ISBN 0 563 40596 1
Imaging by Black Sheep, copyright © BBC 1998
Printed and bound in Great Britain by Mackays of Chatham
Cover printed by Belmont Press Ltd, Northampton
For Steve Cole
Thanks to:
Sophie and Sylvester
Andy
The Staff of the Sheesh Mahal, Croydon
Chris Parr
Sue Cowley
and
Mark Morris
(for making us find a title without ‘Deep’ or ‘Blue’ in it!)
‘Later on BBC1, The Generation
Game. But first, the start of a new four-part
Adventure for – DOCTOR WHO.’ Trad.
‘Oh I do like to be beside the seaside.’
Chapter One
High above the oceans of Coralee, NavSat Nine drifted in an elegant orbit that took it over every point on the planet’s surface. Checking and rechecking data from the hundreds of colony uplinks, transport shuttles and oceangoing craft that scattered the surface, its navigation transponders sent a trillion messages out into the void – a steady stream of information for the colony ships that used Coralee as a way station en mute to the frontier.
Delicate sensors scoured the planet for data, relaying oceanic current changes and atmospherics to Coralee control. A sensor beam swept over a weather system forming in the northern hemisphere and NavSat Nine sent a possible hurricane alert to the Coralee meteorological data mainframe.
Attitude thrusters flared into life and the satellite turned as it crossed the equator. A routine pulse bounced up from a ship in the deep ocean. Recognition software identified the transponder code as that of the
Hyperion Dawn . The correct signal at the correct time from the correct
place.NavSat Nine sent back its confirmation codes and drifted on, lost against an ocean of black scattered with a billion stars. Holly Reif took a final bite from her sandwich and hurled the remains into the sky. It had barely left her hand when the iridescent shape of a gull flashed past and snatched the bread from the air. Holly watched as the gull spiralled higher and higher, pursued by a shrieking flock of other birds. She pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her jeans and stared out at the glittering ocean. The morning suns were harsh and high, the reflections dazzling. She pulled her shades down, swung her legs over the edge of the Hyperion Dawn’s control cabin and shook her battered lighter into life.
Taking a deep drag Holly stared out over the water of the planet that had been her home for the last four years. She never failed to be fascinated by the ocean. Scarcely a day went past when she didn’t see something new in its constantly shifting surface.
A gust of wind whipped the ash from the tip of her cigarette and out to sea. She stared after it. The distant horizon seemed perilously close, a long, unbroken line of blue. It was no wonder that ancient mariners on Earth feared that they would fall off the edge of the world. She wondered what those explorers would have made of Coralee. There was no chance of concluding that it was flat; at less than half the size of Earth, the curve of the planet was plainly visible. It was 98 per cent water, and the only dry land a broken line of islands strewn around the equator like a necklace.
She craned her neck back, staring up at the clear blue sky. High above the soaring gulls the rings of Coralee arced from horizon to horizon. On clear nights the rings outshone everything else in the sky, sending ragged reflections skittering over the waves. She pitied the colonists that had chosen to settle on drier worlds. The ocean planets were breathtaking as far as Holly was concerned, fascinating, and Coralee was the best of the bunch.
She knew she wasn’t the only one to feel that way. All the water worlds were inhabited – by a very individual bunch of settlers. The oceans seemed to attract frustrated explorers and hopeless romantics. Holly, however, was feeling far from hopeless at the moment. Coralee had been nothing short of miraculous for her love life. She squinted through the blazing sunlight at the shape of Jim, struggling with a seized engine filter on the far side of the deck. She smiled as his curses drifted across to her. She’d finish her cigarette and go and give him a hand.
The Hyperion Dawn was showing its age. Twenty years ago it had been a top of the line cable-laying platform; now the sea had done its work and it was worn and scruffy, the polycarbide hull showing the scars of too many storms. It was long overdue for a refit but the colony was expanding fast and they had to get the communication and power cables laid to the outer islands before the winter storms started to set in.
A sudden swell lifted the platform and Holly snatched at her coffee cup as it toppled from the edge of the wheelhousing. There was a bang from the deck and a burst of swearing from Jim. The autopilot gave a brief electronic burble and motors whined into life as the automatics repositioned the craft.
There was a harsh shriek from the communications console. Holly stubbed out her cigarette and clambered back into the cabin. She picked up the microphone.
‘Hyperion to deep crew, go ahead.’ ‘Are you planning on letting that crate drift all over the frigging
planet? The cable just jumped a foot out of its housing. ’ ‘Stop moaning, Auger. We had a short on the starboard thruster.
Jim’s on it. Besides, I hear that with you, anything over four inches qualifies as a foot.’
‘Don’t you just wish, Bruiser. Don’t you just wish.’ Holly grimaced. She’d been christened Bruiser after an incident at her last company, OMC. She’d rather hoped that the whole thing would be forgotten but everyone on Coralee seemed to know about it.
She’d been with OMC for seven years and had worked her way up to a position of considerable authority. Planetary engineers with oceanic specialities were something of a rare commodity – how do you train divers when your planet’s oceans are so choked with sewage and pollution that it barely qualifies as water? She’d only seen the sea on Earth once, when she was in her teens. She’d defied the curfew and, under cover of night, had slipped past the guards and scrambled under the fence, creeping down to the narrow strip of concrete that looked out from New Oslo over the North Atlantic. She remembered her shock at the vast expanse of liquid heaving back and forth, a thick viscous slime, flecked with grey scum.
This wasn’t what was shown on the broadcasts. Sure, everyone knew that all the cetacean life forms had had to be shipped to the settlements near the pole because of the pollution but this... This was obscene.
She had crawled back to her living unit in a daze and vowed that she would get away from Earth, make for the colonies and see an unspoilt ocean. She’d joined the planetary engineering course shortly afterwards, directing all her energies to the study of the water worlds.
OMC had snatched her up as soon as she had graduated and within a year she was part of the team terraforming Hobson’s World out in the Cerelis cluster. A good relationship with her team and a genuine love of the sea propelled her up the company ladder faster than anyone expected, and before long she was sitting in on colonisation meetings at the highest level.
Extra responsibility brought duties that Holly would rather have done without. Paperwork, courses, endless, pointless meetings. By far the worst was the annual company ball. Big social affairs had never been Holly’s thing. She was far happier in overalls than ball gowns. Her flame-red hair and deep green eyes would have made her an imposing woman at the best of times, but years of diving had toned her figure and given her a set of shoulders broader than those of most men. She knew she could turn heads when in her work clothes and in a party dress she could bring a room to a standstill.
The OMC dinner on Kandalinga had been no different. As always it was hosted by the chairman of OMC, Trantor Garpol. Holly had only spoken with Garpol once before – a company dinner back on Earth – and she hadn’t been impressed. He had been all over her like a rash, telling her what an asset she was to the company and promising bonuses. Then his fussy little assistant, Blint, had whisked him away, informing him that there were far more important people waiting and he hadn’t spared her another glance.
Garpol always threw a party on his new colony worlds, partly to let the colonists know how much they owed OMC, partly to gloat at the competition. Holly had watched his expensive personal shuttle glide down to the colony pad and a skimmer whisk him to the reception. She had been in a bad mood from the start of the evening. She was fed up with spending more and more time behind a desk and less and less time out at sea, and she had spent all night fighting off the advances of faceless, suited creeps and drinking far too much expensive champagne. When Garpol had spotted her through the crowds and started fawning over her she was less than polite. When his hand had strayed to her backside her tension had exploded in a punch that sent him sprawling into a table of hors d’oeuvres.
As officials ran around in blind panic Holly had smoothed her dress down, crossed the room to the head of InterOceanic, and asked for a job. She’d been hired on the spot.
Another buzz from the communicator woke her from her reminiscing. ‘OK, Bruiser, we’re ready for the next cable length.’ Holly crossed to the cabin window, stuck two fingers in her mouth and whistled hard. Jim looked up from the deck, sweat dripping off him. Holly grinned at him. ‘You’re soaking!’ He shrugged. ‘Well perhaps if the skipper would lend a hand instead of gazing at the rings like a first timer...’ ‘OK, OK! I’ll be there. Send Trevor up to take over in here. The guys are ready for the next cable length.’ Jim gave her a thumbs up and began shouting orders to the men on the deck. Holly crossed back to the communicator. ‘It’s on its way, Auger.’ ‘Cheers, boss.’ ‘Oh, and Auger...’ ‘Yeah?’ ‘Call me Bruiser one more time and I’ll put a knot in your airline.
Hyperion out.’
Fourteen fathoms below the Hyperion Dawn, the thick rubber-coated cable snaked down on to the seabed, guided into its moorings by two suited divers who crawled over the sandy sea floor like huge metallic crabs. Auger and Geeson were experienced company divers; they’d been part of Holly’s team on Hobson’s World and Kandalinga. They had transferred to InterOceanic the day after she had, and had been top of her list for the Coralee crew.
As the cable slipped into its final mooring Auger thumbed the stop stud on the arm of his suit. The cable glided to a halt and the two divers lumbered forward to lock the couplings in place.
Tony Auger was in a bad mood. He’d been on shift for five hours now and he was tired and hungry. As he grappled with locking the coupling the spanner slipped from his grip and tumbled on to the silty floor.
‘Goddamn it!’ His partner, Geeson, looked up. ‘What the hell is it now?’ ‘These frigging suits!’ Auger held up a gauntleted hand. ‘You tell me that a diver designed these!’ Geeson grunted. This was an old argument. Deep-diving suits for frontier worlds were rugged, tough and functional; they hadn’t been designed with fine work in mind. He sighed. Working under water had all the problems of working in space and none of the advantages; it was just as claustrophobic with little of the manoeuvrability. Even so, he wasn’t about to give in to another bout of Auger’s griping.
‘You whinge too much. Just get on with it.’ He watched as Auger pulled the spanner out of the mud, batting aside the fish that had drifted over to investigate. There were always fish at engineering sites, darting in to catch anything stirred up by the machines. A great shoal of them hovered nearby, their multicoloured fins glinting in the weak sunlight that filtered down from the surface. Geeson was always surprised at their variety. He was a veteran of dozens of ocean colonies and the fish were always uniquely different.
Now they darted in, jaws gulping at the tiny shrimps disturbed by the cable. He waved them away from the front of his visor and tightened the final bolt.
‘Right. Done. Let’s get the cable unhooked and get the hell out of here.’ ‘I’ll do it.’ Auger lumbered over to the end of the cable run and began unscrewing the guide wire. There was a sudden flurry of movement in the water. Geeson turned his head inside the bubble of his helmet in time to see the cloud of fish sweep past him like a rainbow wave. ‘What the hell...?’ He looked over at Auger. The other diver shrugged. ‘Beats me. They’ve gone. All of them.’ Holly was down on the deck helping Jim with the starboard motor when she heard the communicator shriek again. She hauled herself up into the cabin. Trevor handed her the mike.
‘Thanks, Trey. Go give Jim a hand, would you?’ She settled into the pilot’s chair. ‘What is it now, guys?’ ‘Holly, it’s Geeson. Anything strange going on up there?’ Holly was puzzled. ‘Strange? How d’you mean?’ ‘I don’t know exactly. All the fish Just quit the area.’ ‘You’re worried about the fish?’ ‘They’re all gone, Holly. Now something sure as hell scared them
off. You got anything on the radar? ’
She glanced at the screen. The two tracer blips of the divers were bright and glowing, their low pings keeping steady time in the small cabin.
‘Only you two on the screen.’ ‘Well, keep an eye on it, will you?’ Holly frowned. Geeson didn’t usually get this freaked. ‘You sure you’re OK, Martin?’ ‘Yeah.’ There was a short barking laugh from the speaker. ‘Just been
down here too long, I guess. We’re packing up now. ’
‘OK, Martin. I’ll keep an eye on the screen and let you know if anything shows up.’ She glanced idly over at the small radar screen and her eyes widened with horror. ‘Jesus Christ!’ The screen was suddenly alive with signals moving through the water with impossible speed. The tracers of the two divers were swamped. The cabin was filled with a cacophony of electronic noise.
She snatched up the microphone. ‘Auger! Geeson! What the hell is down there with you?’ She could hear screams over the speakers. ‘Martin!’ There was nothing but static now. She raced on to the deck. ‘Jim! Get them up!’ He looked up at her, puzzled.
‘Auger and Geeson are in trouble! Get them up! Now!’ Jim slammed the emergency winch button. Klaxons blared out over the platform. The winch mechanism screamed as the divers’ safety lines reeled in. Holly threw herself at the rail, her eyes scouring the water for the first sign of the divers. Jim spotted them first. ‘There!’
Holly followed his gaze. A smudge of light was rising from the deep
- – the high beam from one of the suit helmets. The helmet broke the
Geeson’s suit was nothing more than a collection of shredded metal lumps. She could see his face through the visor, but the rest of him... It was scarcely possible that the lumps of ragged meat could once have been a man. Jim hauled the other cable from the water. The end was severed. There was no sign of Auger.
Holly stared across at Jim. All the crew were looking at her, waiting for her to give an order. She never got to give it. The platform heaved suddenly, sending them sprawling across the deck. There was a ragged tearing noise. ‘That was the hull!’ Jim was on his feet now He darted across the deck and punched buttons on the winch control. ‘I’ve got to release the cable!’
The platform lurched again and the engines whined in protest as the autopilot laboured to keep the craft level. Holly struggled to her feet. ‘I’ll take us off auto! See if I can get us out of here.’ She staggered over the deck as the platform pitched again. Two crewmen tumbled against the rail. Holly’s head snapped up in shock as something reached up and snatched the men over the side. Their screams mingled with a guttural, bubbling roar.
The remainder of her crew were struggling to help Jim with the cable controls. They hadn’t seen the... thing. Holly was about to call out to them when the deck was punched up from below. Several shapes punctured the steel and began to tear it back, peeling it apart as if it was paper. Holly was shaking her head. They couldn’t be claws... they just
couldn’t be. There was a deep, throaty roar from beneath them. She
could see wet flesh glistening under the torn deck plates. Her mind was a whirl. There were no predators on Coralee. The colonisation survey would have said...
She stared helplessly across at Jim. The two other crewmen were backing away, desperately searching for something to defend themselves with. One of them passed Jim an axe. The ship rolled again and Holly caught a glimpse of several huge shapes surging up from the water. She turned and fled. She could hear the cries of Jim and the others from behind her, high agonised cries and wet, tearing noises. She tried to blot them out with her own screams. She scrambled through the control cabin, not daring to look back. She could hear claws dragging on the deck plates, sense things swirling through the water.
There. Ahead of her. The escape bubble. She launched herself at the hatch. Long, painful seconds passed as the hydraulics creaked open. She could hear something behind her, dragging across the deck. Harsh, laboured breathing.
The hatch opened and she dived through, kicking at the door controls. The hydraulic rams had started sliding the door shut when the arm came through the gap.
Holly pulled the fire axe off the wall and swung it down on the pale, fleshy limb that thrashed and flailed in the confinement of the bubble. Thick ichor sprayed over the walls. She screamed and swore at the things that had taken Jim, taken her crew and swung the axe again and again. The door mechanism crushed home and the severed arm thumped to the floor. With a lurch the bubble launched from the platform. Holly didn’t notice. She continued to hack at the writhing arm until the floor was littered with flesh and blood.
Only when the last piece stopped moving did she stop and give in to her grief. She collapsed on to the floor with tears streaming from her eyes. She huddled into a corner rocking herself back and forth, the sound of her sobbing echoing around the walls of the escape pod.
Then the claws began to scrape along the hull.
Chapter Two
The beach stretched for miles, a huge white curve of sand glaring under the twin suns. White crested waves tumbled on to the shore in a constant hiss and the soft wind carried the distant screech of gulls.
At the edge of the beach tall palms curved elegantly towards the sky, providing some shelter from the burning suns. In the shadow of one of the palms the air began to blur and take on a bluish tint. With a series of rusty arthritic groans the tall shape of the TARDIS struggled to gain solidity. That achieved, with a loud thump it materialised fully and the door creaked open.
The Doctor stepped out on to the beach, took a deep breath, and smiled. His trousers were rolled up to the knees, he had a huge kite under one arm and was clutching a bright red plastic bucket and a spade with a curious question-mark-shaped handle. He propped the kite up against the palm tree and rummaged in his pocket. Pulling out a large paisley handkerchief he began knotting the corners.
‘Come on, Ace! Surf’s up!’ Pulling the handkerchief on to his head, the Doctor hoisted his kite back into his arms and began to amble towards the sea, licking his finger and testing the wind direction.
There was the sound of a scuffle inside the TARDIS and his companion emerged into the sun, adjusting the straps on her swimsuit. Ace stared at the beach ahead of her and gave a sigh of deep satisfaction. Truth be told, she hadn’t believed that they would ever get here. Too often the Doctor’s promises of a relaxing holiday turned into just another nightmare, and they had been through enough nightmares recently. She had to hand it to him, though – this time it looked like he’d really done it.
Ace hauled a huge baggy T-shirt on over her swimsuit, then slipped on her sunglasses, hoisted her ghetto-blaster on to her shoulder and followed the Doctor on to the beach.
He was busy putting his kite together when she dropped on to the sand next to him. She leant back and stared at the huge sweep of the rings cutting across the sky.
The Doctor smiled at her. ‘Impressive, isn’t it?’ Ace nodded. ‘Wicked.’ ‘It used to be a moon – a very long time ago.’ Ace stretched back on the white sand. ‘What happened?’ The Doctor stared up at the rings thoughtfully, shading his eyes. ‘I’m not sure. I should pop back one day and find out.
‘But not today.’ ‘No’ He held his kite out proudly. ‘Not today.’ He clambered to his feet. A bunch of kids thundered past him down the beach, splashing into the sea. Ace could hear the chatter of their parents lounging under the palms. All around there were scattered groups of people, swimming, sunbathing, generally having a good time. On the edge of the shoreline a small group was setting up a sophisticated sail board.
Ace stared at them. Humanoid but definitely not human. Too many limbs for one thing.
The Doctor answered her unasked question. ‘Dreekans. You find a lot of them on the ocean planets. Very good swimmers. Having four arms does help, I suppose.’
As if to prove the point two of the Dreekans launched themselves into the water and within moments they were little more than dots heading for the horizon.
The Doctor began to trot down the beach, reeling out the kite’s tail. Ace rummaged in her beach bag and pulled out a cassette tape. Courtney Pine. God, it had been a long time ago when she bought this. Another nightmare. She peered at the small shape of the Doctor. It was so strange seeing him in a relaxed environment. Too often they were in the thick of things as soon as they landed; and the last few weeks had been worse than most. The Blitz. Victorian London...
The events of their last adventure had shaken the Doctor badly. Things had been awkward between them since then, and they hadn’t talked about it properly. Not yet. Ace scratched idly at the small scar
- on her neck. The scar where the Doctor had tried to...
She shook her head angrily. She was on holiday for God’s sake! They had come here to heal things. To relax. She slipped the cassette into her ghetto-blaster and hit play. Soft jazz drifted over the beach. One of the Dreekans on the shoreline cocked his head, listening. He turned and gave her a dazzling smile.
Ace grinned back. ‘I wonder what else you’ve got four of,’ she murmured. There was a sudden cry of delight from the kids she had seen earlier.
- See Doctor Who – Matrix
The Doctor’s kite had leapt into the sky, sending gulls scattering in alarm. The Doctor sent it soaring higher and higher, weaving in intricate patterns against the distant rings.
Ace settled back on the soft sand and closed her eyes. The suns were gorgeously warm on her skin. Everything was turning out perfectly. Brenda Mulholland sipped her third coffee of the morning and stared out of the huge, curved window that dominated her office. The island chain stretched away into the haze of morning light, a thin line of green among the endless blue. Below her the colony stretched down the headland, already alive with traders and tourists. Tourists, for God’s sake! Only four years since the first colonists had arrived on Coralee and they were already attracting tourists from the outer worlds. Not that this was a bad thing, of course, it was good for the economy – she could just hear the chatter from the market quarter and the harbour.
The colony was already beginning to struggle with the rapidly expanding population, which was well over the projected figures. They had to start developing the other islands fast if they were going to keep up with demand. Most of the infrastructure was in place, the reactor was more than capable of coping with the extra demand and one of the smaller islands had been fitted out as a halfway decent shuttle port. She could see a distant transport droning across the sky. As she watched, its main thrusters kicked in and it surged upwards, vanishing towards one of the sister worlds.
They had to get power to the outlying clusters though. When that was done then the engineers could move in and they could take the next batch of colonists. Earth was screaming at her to get things hurried along.
There was a tap on her door, and the rugged face of Phillip Garrett, the colony’s chief engineer, peered into the room. ‘Still trying to come up with names?’ Brenda grimaced. ‘If I ever meet the genius who decided that it was a great honour for me to come up with names for over two hundred islands...’
‘You could always name one after me. Garrett Island. Got a nice ring to it, don’t you think?’ Brenda smiled. The initial orbital survey had classified all the islands by size and with reference numbers. According to the manual the colonists currently inhabited Coralee island cluster 262704K, but within weeks of planetfall they had christened their new home the Grayson Islands, after their pilot. Now, as colony co-ordinator, it was Brenda’s duty to name the remaining islands.
She smiled as she stared over at two large pillars of rock that dominated the bay. Damn and Blast It; the first islands she had named. That had caused an uproar. Typical of the flippant attitude that taints
all of Brenda Mulholland’s decisions . She still had that memo taped to
her notice board.The islanders liked her, though. Apparently several of the tavernas ran a book on which island she would name next. Someone had won over two hundred credits recently by correctly guessing that she would call one of the smaller islands Trigger, after her dog.
She took another sip of her coffee and slumped into the chair behind her desk. ‘What have you got for me, Phillip?’ Garrett lumbered across to her desk and handed her a data-pad. ‘Supply request from MacKenzie for the next quarter. The dig is taking longer than expected and he’s running out of essentials.’
Brenda scanned the list. ‘We’re going to struggle to get these approved. He’s already way over his weight quota for the next cargo shipment.’
Garrett shrugged. ‘Then he stops. He can’t work without this stuff.’ Brenda slumped into her chair. ‘OK, leave it with me, Phillip. I’ll talk to Central, see what I can do.’ There was a sharp buzz from the console on her desk. She snapped it on.
‘Yes?’ ‘Sorry to disturb you, ma’am, but we’ve got a problem.’ ‘I’ll be right out.’ Garrett gave her a sympathetic smile. ‘It never rains...’ The two of them stepped into the huge control room. After the brightness of the office the control centre was like a huge, dark cave.
Slatted blinds hung over the windows allowing shafts of light to lance across the room, glinting off the screens of dozens of monitors. Dreekan and human technicians bat hunched over read-outs, the Dreekans’ hands flying over multiple keyboards. The entire room throbbed with an air of quiet efficiency.
Brenda peered through the gloom, her eyes adjusting rapidly. A young traffic controller looked at her expectantly. She crossed the room, settling into the seat alongside him.
‘What seems to be the problem?’ ‘It’s the Hyperion Dawn, ma’am. No contact for over twenty minutes.’ Brenda frowned. ‘That’s Holly’s ship, isn’t it?’ The technician nodded.
‘Did they make their last routine call?’
‘No, ma’am. That’s when I tried them, but there’s no response.’ Brenda leaned over the console. The small transponder signal that was the Hyperion Dawn blinked steadily on the screen.
‘Any distress signal?’ The technician shook his head. ‘Nothing from the NavSats, either.’ ‘It could just be a faulty com system’ Garrett, as usual, sounded confident. ‘That crate is well overdue for retirement.’ Brenda sank her chin into her hands, staring thoughtfully at the screen. Suddenly she shook her head. ‘I think we’ll be safe rather than sorry. Get the flyer airborne.’
The klaxon shattered the peace of the control room. Suddenly there were people everywhere, settling into a well-practised routine. Brenda crossed to the window and pulled the blinds apart. The bulky yellow shape of the coastguard flyer lifted clumsily from the shuttle pad, engines roaring. She watched as it soared out over the sea.
‘I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Phillip.’ She turned round, looking for him through the gloom, but the engineer had gone. Ace drifted through crystal clear waters, watching the sandy ocean bottom, which rippled with reflected light. Coral bloomed from rocky outcrops – a riot of colour amidst the gentle blue. She kicked out with powerful strokes and swept across the sea floor, sifting through the pebbles nestling in the sand.
Fish drifted around her, sometimes darting in between her fingers as she disturbed the sand, mostly just contemplating her with huge, unblinking eyes. She was picking at a cluster of bright polished stones when the fish suddenly exploded away from her in a furious flurry of scales.
A sudden shadow drifted over her and she turned her head upwards. Something huge and yellow passed overhead. Ace struck out for the surface.
She broke through the waves in time to see the coastguard flyer thunder into the distance, the roar from its engines echoing around the cove. Shading her eyes she watched as it vanished over the horizon.
Flicking her wet hair over her shoulders she turned back to the beach. She had drifted out further than she had intended. The shore was a distant white stripe, the people on it no more than colourful dots. She picked through the selection of pebbles in her hand and pulled out a vivid green one. Popping it into her mouth for safekeeping she discarded the rest and struck out for the beach.
Out in the deep ocean it had drifted, swept for miles by the currents, every system on shutdown. Now vibrations through the water revived it. Gradually its senses opened up – light dazzled it, sounds and smells bombarded it. There was prey here. It could taste it through the water, feel it struggling towards the shore.
Every sense heightened, it targeted its prey and surged forward. Ace’s head jerked up at the sound of something loud and fast approaching her. The speedboat was little more than a red blur as it sliced past, the wave from its bow sloshing over her head, momentarily blinding her. She pulled the pebble out of her mouth and waved angrily at the pilot.
‘Wanker!’ The boat sped on, oblivious. Suddenly there was a loud thump, and a protesting roar from the engine as the hull struck something under the water.
Ace could see the pilot wrestling with the controls – the boat was jerking as if it was caught on something. The engine screamed as he wrenched on the throttle. With a sudden torrent of spray the boat was free again, lurching forward through the waves.
As Ace watched, it circled for a few seconds, the pilot scouring the waves for the obstruction, then sped off across the endless blue. Ace glowered after it. ‘Hope your prop shaft’s bent. Popping her pebble back into her mouth she resumed her swim back to shore.
Ace waded up on to the beach to find the Doctor sitting in front of a huge sandcastle – really huge. It must have been about four metres square and nearly a metre high. The Doctor was tinkering with a collection of electronic spares while the local kids were further along the beach, shrieking and playing with his kite.
The Doctor was running a long cable to the top of his sandcastle where he had constructed an impossibly slender tower. Ace sauntered over to him. ‘Wom’s at em, ampon cut?’ He stared at her. ‘I’m sorry?’ Ace pulled the pebble out of her mouth. ‘I said what’s that then,
Hampton Court?’ The Doctor looked indignant. ‘Certainly not! It’s the City of the
ExxiIons, one of the Seven Hundred Wonders of the Universe!’ He pressed a button on the collection of junk in his hand and the top of the sand beacon began to pulse with light. He beamed at Ace. ‘I was able to stimulate the silica in the sand and make it light-emitting.’
Ace shook her head in disbelief. ‘Professor, you’re in a class of your own.’ She slumped down on to the sand next to him and began towelling her hair. ‘Did you see that flyer that went over earlier?’
The Doctor nodded. ‘Coastguard. Search and rescue. There’s quite a big town at the end of the bay.’ He handed Ace a pair of opera glasses and pointed down the beach. Ace peered through the glasses. Through the palm trees she could make out gleaming white buildings bordering thick green jungle. The town swept out along a natural peninsula with a small harbour at its tip. Ace could see sails and expensive-looking cruisers. It reminded her of the Greek islands; except for the rings of course, and the extra sun.
She lowered the glasses. ‘Professor...’ ‘Hmm?’ The Doctor was hunched over the circuit board, poking at it with his screwdriver.
‘Do you have any plans? I mean, are we rushing off anywhere?’ ‘Not especially, no.Why?’ ‘Well...’ The Doctor looked up from his work, his eyes twinkling. ‘Well...?’ ‘Could we stay for a couple of days?’ He grinned. ‘I was hoping you’d say that.’ Ace lay back on her towel. ‘Wicked.’ The Doctor returned to his tinkering. ‘If we’ve got a couple of days
I’ll have time to magnetise the sand and get the doors to open.’ Ace was about to tell him that he was a sad git when a shadow suddenly blotted out the suns. Before she had a chance to shout out a warning the Doctor’s kite came hurtling out of the sky and crashed into the City of the Exxilons.
Chapter Three
The Hyperion Dawn drifted quietly in the swell of the ocean, with no indication on her decks of the violence of the morning. She suddenly bucked in the water as the coastguard flyer dropped over her in a low hover, its engines churning the sea into boiling foam.
Sensors swept over the craft and the ship’s log automatically uplinked to the hovering flyer. The pilot began a slow circle of the ship. His co- pilot suddenly pointed at the ragged holes torn in the deck plates.
‘What the hell d’you think did that?’ The two men looked at each other grimly.
‘Coastguard to Coralee Control.’
Brenda was at the communications console before the technician had a chance to raise his hand. ‘Go ahead. Her heart was pounding.
‘We’ve found the Hyperion Dawn. She’s at her original coordinates.
Looks like she’s still tethered to the com cable. She’s taken on a lot of
water; barely afloat.’‘What about the crew?’
‘No sign of life. And there are... marks.’
‘Marks?’ There was a pause. ‘It looks as if something tore the bottom out of
the ship.’
‘You mean she ran aground?’
‘No. No, she’s too far out for that. I don’t know what in hell caused
this.’A low mutter began to run around the control room. If there was something that Brenda could do without it was a mystery at sea. ‘Quiet!’ Her voice was like a gunshot. She glared at the technicians around her. ‘Leave the rumours to the market traders. We’ve got a rescue in progress, remember.’ She turned back to the console.
‘Is the escape bubble still there?’
‘Hold on, we’ve just got to swing aft... No. No, the bubble has been
launched!’‘Then there may well be survivors. Get on to it.’
‘Do you want us to tractor the ship back in?’
‘Yes. No, wait. Brenda tapped her teeth. It sounded likely that the ship had been attacked by someone or something. If it was a natural phenomenon then it would be under her jurisdiction but if it was a deliberate act of piracy...
‘Send a drone down. Full data sweep. When it’s done I’ll send a salvage crew out. You get after that bubble.’
‘Roger that, Control. Coastguard out.’
Brenda crossed to the video wall that dominated one side of the control room. A Dreekan technician powered up the sensor array, his hands dancing over the keyboards.
‘Drone online. Receiving data.’ The screen glowed into life with the startup icon from the drone, then flickered briefly with static.
Brenda frowned. ‘What’s wrong?’ The Dreekan looked puzzled. ‘It’s as if the signal is being split.’ He punched at a series of controls. ‘Got it!’ The picture swam for a moment, then suddenly they were seeing the
Hyperion Dawn from the air as the drone dropped from the belly of the
coastguard flyer. Brenda leaned close as the remote swooped over the deck, zeroing in on the gashes that criss-crossed its metal surface. Machinery whirred and hummed around her as sensor data was received and decoded. She couldn’t take her eyes off the gouges in the metal.
‘Jesus Christ, Holly... where are you?’ In another part of the colony a huge, lumbering figure watched with satisfaction as telemetry and pictures from the wrecked ship scrolled across a small screen. Reaching down with clumsy, club-like hands the figure pulled a squat communications relay from a case and punched a series of studs. The machine chattered into life.
Leaning close, the figure barked a short, guttural message into the machine. It chattered again then gave a series of rapid clicks. The figure resumed watching the screen, its harsh breathing echoing around the darkened room.
The Cythosi ship hung in the asteroid field, huge and ugly. Like a great whale it drifted slowly with the thousands of tumbling rocks, its hull rough and barnacled, pitted with countless meteor scars and blaster burns. Low-power force fields flickered around it, nudging the ship clear of the larger rocks, deflecting the smaller ones, keeping the vessel moving without giving its position away.
In the observation blister slung low under the belly of the ship, Commander Bisoncawl sat watching the huge chunks of space debris tumble gracefully past. He shifted his bulky frame in his chair, scratching idly at the hair that tufted from his neck.
Functionary Bavril stood to attention just behind him and to his left, as operational regulations required. Cythosi didn’t like to have to look at their humanoid slaves. Aesthetically unpleasing, they said. Some Cythosi had been known to execute on the spot any humanoid who had the temerity to make eye contact with them. General Mottrack was like that. He was one of the worst.
Then again, summary execution wasn’t the worst fate that life on the Cythosi ship promised for Bavril’s people... Bisoncawl, Mottrack’s number two, wasn’t so bad. Bavril knew he was lucky to be appointed to serve him. That having been said, it was never entirely possible to relax in the presence of any of the Cythosi – they could all be vicious and unpredictable. Particularly at the moment. For days the ship had drifted, waiting, waiting for the signal, its Cythosi crew getting bored and vindictive, its human crew suffering as a result. There was nothing they could do – not now This had been a long voyage. When they’d started out, Bavril’s people had outnumbered the Cythosi by six to one. Now they were practically down to essential personnel only. Everyone else had been taken below...
Bisoncawl was concerned, Bavril knew. Silent running was difficult to maintain at the best of times, and was practically impossible over long periods. The ship had been in the asteroid field for nearly twelve cycles now, with no sign of the signal and no sign of the enemy. The crew were becoming complacent and General Mottrack had responded in predictable Cythosi fashion by getting brutal. Only yesterday a careless human communications operator had triggered a sonar buoy and been shot down on the spot. If the signal didn’t come soon...
Bisoncawl’s communicator blinked. He was required on the bridge. ‘Come,’ he said, heaving himself from the chair and stepping out into the corridor. The battle cruiser was typical of Cythosi design – bleak, functional, uncomfortable. Clouds of vapour hung in oily patches down the length of the main walkway. Bisoncawl thrust his head into one of them and breathed deeply. Bavril shuddered. The smell always reminded him of rotting meat, and made him feel nauseous.
I’ve been out on frontier duty too long,’ Bisoncawl rasped. ‘I’m ready to go home.’ Bavril dropped his eyes. These little intimacies, officer to adjutant, frightened him. A lesser officer would never get away with it – although it would of course be the functionary who suffered. Bavril could never decide whether Bisoncawl was being friendly or cruel.
A cluster of growling Cythosi troopers turned the corner. Bisoncawl straightened and the troopers fell silent, saluting him as they lumbered past.
They approached the command area and Bisoncawl pressed his thick, clawed hand on to the security access panel, growling with impatience as the door ground open. He stepped through and something spitting and vicious clamped itself on to his shoulder.
He clawed it off in one swift movement, slamming it to the floor and pinning it there with a booted foot. The service robot writhed and spat, tearing at the fabric of the commander’s boot. Bisoncawl drew his blaster and pumped three shots into the robot. With a metallic rattle it sparked and lay still. Bisoncawl swore under his breath.
A low chuckle drifted across the darkened control room. ‘Problems, Commander?’ Bisoncawl holstered his gun and saluted stiffly. The huge form of
General Mottrack loomed over them. Even by Cythosi standards Mottrack was ugly. A veteran of a dozen campaigns, the general wore the evidence of battle like medals. One side of his face was a mass of scar tissue, one eye buried in deep folds of raw flesh, the other wide and staring, its burning red pupil never resting. The heavy bone of his forehead was pitted and bent, giving him a constant glower.
The red emergency lighting of the bridge glinted wetly off the oil on his battle fatigues and the huge plasma blaster that hung ominously at his side. Bavril had noticed that Mottrack’s hand Was never far from the butt of the blaster.
As usual Mottrack totally ignored Bavril. He leant close to his second-in-command. ‘Well, Commander,’ he growled, ‘I asked you a question.’ Bisoncawl returned his glare. ‘Nothing I can’t correct, sir, he said. ‘The protocols on the service robots seem to have been reset to defence posture. An oversight in maintenance, no doubt.’